This is a new story I'm messing around with. Title may well be changed >.> Please let me know what you think. The tale itself is pretty self-explanatory, but I'll add this:
Eventually, assuming I continue this story, these guys will be "for hire:" once chapter 2 or 3 is up, I will open this up to "contracts." I'll explain when the time comes (by editing this paragraph) but basically, you could request a certain contract, describe the character offering, and I will pick a couple to do
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Chapter 1: You Want a What?
"You want a what...?"
My face must have mirrored my disbelief, because the figure before me leaned out of the shadows for the first time, his face quite serious as he repeated himself.
"A cheetah."
I blinked, not so much at the man's request, but rather at his appearance, which had quite distracted me; his face was wrapped and bound in gauze and bandages, blood seeping through in places despite the many layers. He leaned back, the wide-brimmed hat above him hiding his face once more, except that I could swear I saw a sickly yellow glow where his cold eyes had been. Then again, maybe it was just the cigar haze rimming his head in a filthy halo.
I licked my lips once, twice, while I turned my mind back to this man's request. A cheetah? I honestly had no idea where to find such a creature. I'd seen them around, once or twice, but fleetingly and usually at the side of a Horde hunter. And then there was the fact that I distinctly distrusted this man, his expression and his manner. He didn't strike me as the caring type, and I never liked handing animals off to such strangers.
"If it makes you feel any better, the arrangement is merely temporary," his hoarse voice rumbled. My eyes widened.
"Yeah, yeah it does. What are you doing with it afterward?"
The man shrugged. "You can take it back, if you like. We have but one use for it, for one night only. After that it's yours. Oh," he added, flicking me another look as he slid from his chair into the deeper shadows beyond, "and it has to be female."
I didn't know what the hell to make of that, but I let it go for the time being. "It won't be hurt?"
The man shook his head as he slipped on his long black coat. "It just has to put in an appearance. A centerpiece, shall we say, at a rather exotic party." I saw the flash of a smile even in the semi-darkness, and I didn't like what I saw.
"I would call upon another who could acquire such a beast, but despite being such a delicate young woman, you have been touted by my informants as the most efficient in your line of work."
I smirked. "Not everything is what it seems," I answered, although I didn't come right out and say that I was a werewolf by night. Then again, I'm not real sure how his "informants" had missed that tidbit, considering it wasn't exactly a secret.
"No," he agreed, "it is most certainly not. In any case." He looked at me, his expression one of appraisal. "If you're interested, please call upon me upstairs. I will be here until the morning. Should you choose to accept the contract, half of your payment will be up front, and the other half upon delivery of the creature. I am aware that this runs further toward the exotic than the creatures normally requested by your clients, and you will likely need to hire a guide, and perhaps a guard. Hence the large payment."
I should have been annoyed that the man was telling me my business, especially in such an infuriatingly well-spoken manner, but he was so careful with his mild phrasing that I really had no right to take offense—and besides, my head was swimming as I scrambled to keep up. A guard? A guide? I nodded dumbly as he spoke, and he tipped his hat to me as he moved away through the crowd.
A cheetah...?
I sat, my mug of grog long forgotten between my hands on the table, and thought this over. This was no horse roundup, no corralling of wild sheep or trapping of a fox. I'd need to get ahold of a couple of contacts, ask around a little—maybe find out where... I shook my head. One thing at a time—and quickly, if I was to find out enough about this contract to decide tonight. Galvanized into action, I sprang from my table and pushed my way to the bartender—a short goblin, his disillusioned, grim gaze flicking to me as I approached.
I handed over some coin for the drinks, and he eyed them for a moment before taking them, making me wonder if perhaps the strange man I'd drank with had already paid, and the goblin was taking double. I shook the thought away and held out a few extra coppers. The goblin's tired eyes lit up very slightly and he looked up at me, already shielding his gaze, already weighing how much coin he could squeeze from me.
"I need the name of a guard, someone who's free now, if you know anyone."
He grunted and scratched his chin, seeming to mull this over for several long moments. "You mean like a hired gun, som'thin like that?"
I nodded. "Something like that."
"Seem to think I remember someone, they don't like bein' contacted though. Could be with a few more coppers I could go 'n get 'em."
"Who's going to run your bar while you're gone?" I replied, arching an eyebrow. He glanced around, licking his lips. "Eh, it's gotta be now?"
"Yeah, gotta be now," I answered. I made as if to sweep the coins away, and he held his hands up and took a couple of placating steps forward.
"All right, all right, miss," he said hastily. "Maybe I can send word out," he added, reaching for the copper. I let him take it. "Can you be back in an hour?"
I studied his face, briefly. He was telling the truth, I could tell. "Yeah, I can come back in an hour. I have people to get ahold of myself." The whole idea of what I was bout to do filled me with dread, and I found the bartender staring at me with barely-hidden trepidation. My face must have been mirroring again. Damn. I'd have to work on that.
"Not gonna start trouble in here, are you?" he asked at length.
"No, no, nothing like that," I assured him. When he didn't say anything else, I shrugged. "Back in an hour, then." He grunted and nodded, disappearing into a back room. I turned and walked out, grinding my teeth.
I would certainly need a guide. I knew it. And I'm sure that Tallow knew it too, and I'm sure that's why he hadn't gotten ahold of me first. The shaggy, dirty, and of course ever-drunk dwarf was probably wallowing in money and booze, just waiting for my next call and next payoff. Damn him. He had no intention of ever apologizing, did he?
I shook my head and made my way up to the gryphon master, the perch smelling of sweet hay and the musty scent of feathers. Golden eyes regarded me with fearless nobility as I strode past, my leather boots padding quietly across the dusty old planks.
"Help ye, miss?" called a polite and quiet voice from the far end of the roost—and that the voice was polite and quiet was surprising, as neither of those traits were something I'd learned to associate with the dwarves.
"I need a bird sent up to the Nesingwary camp," I began, but the gryphon master was already shaking his head.
"Messengers are all out at the minute. If you want news sent, you'll have to deliver it yourself—got three riding gryphons ready to go, if you like."
I sighed inwardly, trying to hide my disappointment; lack of coin was my current predicament, and having to pay for such a flight was going to cost me. But the gryphon could cover ground in minutes that would take a horse an hour, and time was tearing by. I had only a few hours before I accepted or denied a contract that could make or break me financially, and I hadn't a minute to spare. My contact needed an answer tonight, so tonight it would have to be.
"I'll take one, then. In a bit of a rush," I added, flicking my gaze out over Booty Bay. The town was bustling, as always, the merchants and sea folk moving along the dock and in and out of the various trader stands set up along the outer edge of the pier. Builders worked along one section of the walkway; they'd partitioned it off and were rebuilding it after the recent storms. A ship was pulling in, slow and smooth, from the distance; the boat pushed the ocean before it, spray glittering and dancing in the afternoon sun.
The gryphon master spoke from behind me. "Here ye go. Answers to Thunder." I took the proffered reins with a thanks, handed over a few coins to the dwarf, and swung into the saddle. Flight was still something I found hard to get used to, but the gryphons were well-trained and used to inexperienced riders, and this one seemed gentle enough.
It turned and trotted with little urging, its eagle's head peering toward the sun as we moved out of the stable and into the cool autumn air. Then it was sprinting, sudden and powerful, massive lion's hindlimbs propelling us forward with surging strides.
And then we were airborne. The sensation dropped my stomach away, and I felt breathless and nearly ill for a moment while the creature climbed into the sky. Feathered wings rustled in the crisp air, and its neck stretched before me, soft and white as the clouds.
When the dust had cleared, I dismounted and led the gryphon the last few yards over to the encampment's recently-reinforced outer walls, nodding curtly to the guards. I was annoyed, I was glowering in aggravation, and the guards let me by without a word, one taking hold of the gryphon's reins with a little bow.
"I'll only be a minute," I assured him. And I intended to, but of course I always figured without Tallow's infuriating... everything.
I started to ask one of the hunters inside—a man sweating, even in the slight chill, as he worked a large strip of leather—where I could find Tallow. My mouth was actually open when I spotted the farthest tent, and my voice died in my throat.
The tent was ragged, patched and dirty, and there was a cord strung from a crooked fencepost to the peak, upon which hung several completely filthy pieces of clothing. I doubted he was hanging them up to dry after washing; more likely, he was trying to air out the stench, or perhaps he'd fallen into a pond again drunk. Or perhaps the clothes had fallen into a puddle of booze. Either way, the entire area around his tent—from the clothes to the scuffed-away grass to the bits of string and paper around the front—declared that this was definitely Tallow's tent. Nobody else was such an utter pig.
"TALLOW," I bellowed. "TALLOW." I deliberately ignored the sweaty, alcoholic stench, marched up to his bed, and began to shake the small, rumbling figure beneath the torn blanket. "TALLOW."
No response. I sighed, and left his tent, making my way back down to the river, eyes ablaze. I didn't want to have to ask him for help, and he'd know it; I needed the cash, but I wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere but trying to wake the stout fool from his afternoon binge-sleep. I retaliated against my fate by filling my canteen with cold river-water, praying a little that it held some kind of nasty bug that'd make Tallow really ill, then shoving my way back into his tent and pouring it over his greasy head.
He sputtered and tumbled off of his makeshift cot, as I knew he would. Loud, incoherent protest was quickly followed by a colorful stream of choice words, and his bleary, bloodshot blue eyes regarded me with blind hatred. A moment later they cleared, and his expression was downright cheery, which only soured my own mood further.
"Sonya!" he cried, his matted brown-red beard (far lighter when clean) split by a sudden grin. "By the gods, girl, I didn't think I'd see you again! What is it this time?" he continued eagerly, a gleam of greed and excitement sparking in his eyes. "Is it a Devilsaur? Please tell me i's a Devilsaur, I always wanted one 'o them beasts, the hunt, oh imagine it!"
I had to head him off now—a Devilsaur hunt was one of Tallow's big dreams, and once he got onto the topic, you couldn't shut him up about it.
"No, Tallow. It's important, and it's short notice."
He interrupted me at once, as I knew he would, his eyes narrowed and his grin wide. "Oooh, lass, but ye always need me help, aye? What do I get outta the deal then?" He chuckled and snatched at my tunic, and I swatted his hand away with a growl. He laughed, delighted; he was a perverse dwarf, or pretended to be, at least. I suspected that he did it solely for my reaction, and that given the opportunity, he'd prove to be far more respectable. But I had no intention of testing those waters, so I just grunted and moved away, pulling my coinpurse out to change the subject.
I turned it upside-down, emptying it into my palm. A few copper coins, a small clink of silver. That was it.
"Ahh, broke eh?" he nodded quickly as he talked, as if sympathetic, but his eyes remained fixed on the money in my hand.
"Exactly. So I've taken a job I normally wouldn't, something in dangerous land—" I phrased this last very deliberately, because an adventure sparked Tallow up even more than did the idea of a fat stack of shining gold.
"Dangerous? How dangerous?" He moved away, shutting down the excitement in his face, and coughed. "I mean, it'd have to be good pay for me to accept such an offer..." He turned, face twitching, trying to hide the hopeful expression.
I held back for a moment, expressionless, and let his tension build. "It is," I replied at length, and took a step toward him. I handed him a piece of paper, and he squinted at it.
"No pictures?" he said, scowling. I took it back, folding it and tucking it away into my pocket.
"Says he's offering five hundred gold, Tallow. Split three ways, it really isn't a bad haul for what he's asking."
He stared, hunger evident in his eyes, at the paper I'd put away. He didn't have to know it was a receipt for a night's stay at an inn. The paper held the same power for him as a sack of gold coins, and I knew it. I actually had been offered five hundred gold, of course, but Tallow didn't like taking my word for things. Never mind that he couldn't read anyway—I could pretend.
"So what's he want? Not a Devilsaur?" he pressed, still half-heartedly hopeful.
I sighed. "No, Tallow, it's not a damned Devilsaur." I was being condescending, I knew it and I didn't care. I'd spent too much time with Tallow to be patient with him. "The guy's asking for a rental, of all things. A cheetah. I'm not too familiar with their range, so you're my go-to guide." I didn't manage to hide my irritation in the last sentence, but Tallow didn't care.
He eyed me, the way a bird will eye a worm—crafty, quick, contemplative and very hungry. His hand was at his beard already, stroking it with what he probably considered a thoughtful look, but really it was just disgusting. He was smearing booze and food down the whole mess, and I cringed and looked away.
"Well, lass, eh, Sonya, it's ah, they're rare, ye see. Only one place to find 'em on short notice and damned if yer not right about the danger."
I raised an eyebrow at this, my head still turned away. I'd made up that bit, mostly—I had no idea where to find cheetahs, and I had been hoping that hints of a vicious wilderness would get Tallow raring to go. I hadn't expected to be right about it. Damn. This could put a damper on things—I liked money well enough, but risking my life was in another category altogether.
"...Horde, and raptors, and all sorts 'o other menaces," the dwarf was saying, voice thick and hushed with an almost obscene excitement.
"Eh, what? Where exactly do you intend to hunt them?" I asked, putting emphasis on the you so I wouldn't sound completely ignorant. No point in letting him know I was clueless, after all, or he might demand a greater percentage. Thirding the fee was already more than I was comfortable with.
"Why, the Barrens 'o course, lass!" he cried. "There's some in badlands 'o course, but that's a mighty hike. The few left in Barrens, oh aye, speedy things, you should see 'em there in the savannah..." he began to wax poetic about the sun and dappled coats and waving golden grass, and I tuned him right out. The only golden thing that mattered to me here was coin.
I'm not a materialistic type—really, I'm not. But if I want to stay alive, food and water and clothing and a home are necessities I can't afford to do without—and just then, they were also things I just plain couldn't afford. When the place I called "home" wasn't able to be home for me any more, I wound up a traveler. I had to pay my own way, and I did that by doing what I do best: by hunting and capturing rare and exotic beasts, or more often rather mundane ones, for a fee. Some people wanted an odd pet; some wanted a hunting companion, or a creature that could track a certain scent, or an escaped beast returned to them. The reasons were myriad, but the result was the same: pay.
Sometimes I trained them, but often enough people just wanted beasts in hand, and that was what Tallow was for. For all my knowledge of the forest, I just wasn't worldly—and Tallow was. I'd had a hell of a time finding someone who was both a hunter and a world traveler, willing to guide me anywhere for a fee, and Tallow, sadly, was it. His niche was as specialized as mine was, and like it or not, we were financially good for each other.
"Are you done?" I interrupted him at last. "It all sounds very beautiful, don't get me wrong, but my main concern is getting in and out, alive, with our target."
His eyes widened, and he flashed me a wicked grin. "Aye, and when do we leave?"
"Is it doable? I didn't tell the guy 'yes' yet."
"Doable!" His expression was downright cheery, and I didn't ask for more details in case he got overly excited and started to explain all the little details. If he said it was doable, then it was, and we were short on time.
"Then we leave now, preferably. Maybe get your stuff cleaned up and let's go?" I suggested. He glanced around behind him and looked back at me with a frown.
"Cleaned up? Lass, this as as tidy as I get 'n you know it."
I sighed and turned away. "Meet me at Booty Bay in half an hour. Do whatever you—"
"How am I gonna get there?!" he protested—loudly. I turned back, glaring. "What do you mean? Where's your pack horse?"
"Sold 'im," he replied promptly. I turned away, gritting my teeth hard.
"Fine, get ready and let's go. I'm sure the gryphon can carry both of us." Tallow's face lit up, probably at the prospect of being in melee range of me for the ride, and I left him to pack. I stalked out, paced awhile and before I knew it, Tallow was coming up to me with a walking stick and a heavy pack.
"Booze, food, cookin' pot, got a flint and steel in here, knife, some rope—"
"I trust your judgement on what's needed," I said, mounting Thunder and stopping Tallow's inventory recital smoothly with what I hope came across as something like a compliment. "We really have to hurry, though. I told the innkeeper I'd be back in an hour to talk to our potential hired gun, and it's been half that already."
"Oh!" Tallow looked interested, and he climbed aboard Thunder without so much as a misplaced hand. "So ye think it'll be as dangerous as all tha' then?"
"My—ah, employer—suggested that it might be, and you yourself said that—" I turned the gryphon and set him off—"it's smack in the middle of Horde territory. I doubt it'll be a walk in the park."
"Aye," Tallow agreed amiably. I was sitting in front of him, so his stink was barely noticeable—miracle! "Likely we'll not see a thing, mind ye, we'll be in the middle of the wilderness there. Plains and grass and no' much more. But if we do, 's always good to have a gun," he added, and I could feel him nod sagely behind me. I wanted to roll my eyes, but really, there was was wisdom in his words. He was right; having a good soldier with you in enemy territory was a good thing. I was just hoping we wouldn't need one.
When we arrived in Booty Bay, the gryphon master did not look at all pleased with my choice of companion. He gave Thunder a cursory sniff—audible and quick—and reeled back with a grimace. He didn't say a word, though, so I didn't apologize. Instead, I took Tallow's arm and turned him out the door. "Tavern's this way," I explained shortly. "Please stay sober."
"Ahh, ye know me by now Sonya!" he protested. "I never get drunk on the job."
"No, you get 'tipsy,' which you define in the same way others mean completely smashed," I sighed. "Come on, I'm going to talk to the bartender first, see if his hired gun came through."
The bartender in question spotted me as soon as I walked in, and his grin lit the place up. He waved me over. A tough, no-nonsense looking goblin gal was leaning across the bar next to him, and she surveyed me with open contempt. That was fine by me; I didn't need a squeamish gun by my side, and if things got tough, I'd just tear her to pieces. Easy stuff; I didn't have to like her.
She must have seen the fearlessness in my eyes, because her own face grew masked, contemplative. I ignored her for the moment and turned to the barkeep. "Thanks, her I assume?"
"Yeah, smells like gunpowder and metal from across the room, right? Muscles don't hurt either," he added, grinning and jabbing a chin toward her biceps. She turned and flashed him a nasty look.
"Cut it, cheese breath, you aren't actually selling me," she snapped. Then, turning to me, she stuck out a hand. "Lindsay Wrenchspin. Friends call me Wrench."
"Sonya Summerset," I replied, accepting the handshake.
"Right, let's talk, then?" Wrench said, leading the way over to a table. I followed and sat across from her; Tallow obnoxiously pulled up a seat far too close to her. She was about his own height, far more green—even moreso than Tallow was when completely drunk—and she had piercings through her nose and both long, pointed ears. Her noise was almost cute, perky, but it was a big goblin nose, which kind of ruined the cute effect. Her eyes, though, were sharp and cold and quick, darting between the people in the room, and there was a keen intelligence there.
"Tallow, you want to explain?" I asked. "You know the place better than I do."
He leered at her as she turned to him, and she ignored it. I suspect she got some of the locals doing this every day, and I was sure she could take care of herself if Tallow got too... friendly. When he got no response, he seemed to deflate a little, and got down to business.
"Well, we're goin' to the Barrens, see. It'll probably be a week, maybe a li'l more 'o course if the beasties hold out on us—cheetahs, I mean, and they ain't too common there nowadays. Hunting, you see, from the locals—that 'n competition with the lions. Not many left at all," he added, looking down sadly.
"Barrens is straight Horde," Wrench said. Direct and to the point—maybe I'd like her after all. "We'll need to travel light and fast, and if they come down on us with mounts and we're on foot we're screwed. I can try and talk to them, of course, but no guarantees there. I'm not Bilgewater," she added, shifting back in her seat a little. "You guys aren't gonna be using horses, I guess? Or rams?" she added, glancing at Tallow.
"No," he answered bluntly. "Cat'd see that comin' a mile off. Move through heavy brush I think, stay hidden much as can be, 'n no fires at night."
Wrench was nodding. They were in agreement, then—so far, so good. "What kinda fee we talkin'?" she asked me, and her flat expression hadn't changed.
"Five hundred gold split between the three of us."
"What's that, about one-sixty, one-seventy?" She seemed to think this over for a long moment. "I got a couple guns ready from the shop," she said at last, thoughtful. "I s'pose if we're extra careful... What's the thing you're goin' for, I heard some kinda big cat, yeah? 'Cheetah,' you called it?" She looked at me blankly; the word held no meaning for her.
"Not dangerous, not like lions," Tallow put in helpfully.
"Fine, but there's still lions out there, and raptors, right? And any tallstriders that decide to get pesky. Gonna take a great deal 'o shot for insurance, probably forty rounds." She looked up at the sky, lips moving slightly, tallying up some numbers. "Food, provisions?" she asked at length, looking up at us.
"All taken care of," Tallow replied, lifting his sack and patting it. Wrench looked at him, looked at his bag and turned back to me. "So I'll be taking my own food along."
I laughed, and Tallow looked genuinely hurt. "He's a pig, but his food's actually pretty good. And clean," I added, flashing a look at him.
Wrench looked back at him doubtfully. "If you say so, lady, but he doesn't look like he could cook a clean meal at the bottom of a hot bath. I think I oughtta bring something along anyway, just in case."
I nodded, and she looked me straight in the eye, and said something I'd never heard a goblin say. "Yeah, that's fine."
No haggling?! Blasphemy! I'd been prepared for hours of expounding upon the good points and easy cash of this expedition, but apparently Wrench was just fine with my proposed fee, leaving me to wonder if perhaps I'd offered too much. I thanked her, though, and shook her hand again just the same. "We'll leave as soon as possible, then—when can you be ready?"
"I'm always ready," she replied matter-of-factly. "Can leave right now, if you like. Would need maybe five minutes to grab my things."
"I have to talk to our patron first," I replied. And the bartender, who was looking at me with hungry eyes—damn. I made my way over to him and deposited a few more coins on the bar counter before him.
"She's perfect, and your help's much appreciated," I said, flashing a smile at him. He grinned back, face alight, and swept the money under the counter. I turned and made my way upstairs.
Above the tavern were the inn rooms. I was guessing that Wrench had a place here, and I knew that somewhere, my cheetah-desiring contact also did. I let slip that part of myself that was more animal than human, taking scent silently at each door as I passed. When I reached the one that smelled vaguely like undeath (I knew what he was, regardless of the lengths to which he went to hide it) I knocked twice, firmly.
He answered almost at once, as if he'd heard me coming, which I knew was impossible.
"Ahh," he purred, carefully turning his face away so that his breath didn't hit me. I was grateful for that. "And have you come to accept my offer?"
"I have," I replied at once. "I've got myself a guide and a gun, as suggested. I'd ask for some sort of safe passage, but I'm guessing you aren't on the best of terms with the tauren, or you'd be going to them and not me...?" I made this last a question, because I genuinely wanted to know if there was a chance of getting a safe trip through the Barrens as a non-Horde.
"Err," he replied at once, taking a quick step backward. "Not... not exactly, no. So..." he looked at me, and his eyes glowed even more here in the darkness of the hallway.
"Yeah, I know that you're Forsaken. And no," I added, putting up a hand to still his next question, "it doesn't bother me."
"I was actually going to ask," he said, a hint of reproach in his voice, "how you knew."
"Ahh," I replied, and tried to look sorry—I'd just basically said flat-out that being Forsaken was something that was likely to bother other people. Granted, it was, but it still wasn't polite to just say that, right? "I'm not human myself," I said bluntly. His eyes widened a fraction, but I wasn't completely certain that it wasn't an act, wasn't for show.
"Then what are you?" he asked at length.
"I'm a Gilnean," I replied—roundabout, but clear enough. He remained expressionless; I wasn't sure if he was one of the soldiers or zealots who would try to kill a worgen as soon as look at one, or if he had no political affiliations whatsoever.
"When can you have the creature here?" he finally asked, and I let out a mental sigh of relief.
"As soon as we can find one. I'm told they're somewhat rare in the Barrens, which is where we're going to look. They're more common elsewhere, but that 'elsewhere' is quite a distance. I think we can get a permit for importation into Booty Bay easily enough. I figure a week, maybe two."
He was nodding. "That's fine, that's fine. Ahh," he added, turning away and slipping into the darkness of his room. An odd purple glow was pulsing in the darkness, and a slight smoke, like incense, drifted in the dim light. "Here," he said, holding out a small sack. I knew at once what it was—two hundred and fifty gold coins, the up-front portion of our pay. "And this," he added, handing me a piece of paper—a quick glance showed me that it was a contract, and that it had Mister... Sketch's name on it, along with his contact information. "I can be found here, or here," he explained pointing to each address in turn. I nodded, thanked him and told him that we'd be on our way now, and he bowed low and closed the door softly.
I went downstairs and the three of us—Wrench, Tallow and I—split the gold right there. Tallow and Wrench were ready to go, leaving just me, for once, to get ready. I packed what I thought I'd need—a handaxe and my old forestry rifle, just in case, along with some minor provisions and a change of clothes, also just in case. My rifle wasn't much of a weapon—it wouldn't hold a candle to Wrench's shotgun—but it was reliable, and better than nothing.
Nightfall found us on board a ship to Ratchet, toasting our fine luck and the hunt ahead. Mugs clinked in the candlelight, and even cold-eyed Wrench looked happy. I wondered what made her so readily accept my price, so happy for any work, and realized that maybe she had kids, or someone else dependent upon her. It wasn't really my business, though, so I left it alone. We went off to our separate bunks and slept, each of us dreaming of the adventure ahead.
